In yesterday's post, I talked about Jen Connor having to be able to find her strength. It made me think about many things. What is strength, anyway? I think the definition is different for different people.
First we have to think about what our normal personality is. Some people crumble at the least problem and others march forth through the mine fields of life like stalwart soldiers. So, for the people who crumble, working through a problem is a major show of strength. For our person who takes life as it comes, it's just one more normal day.
I've been told I'm a strong person. I'm one who looks at the options, and then I choose the path. Others have always depended upon me. They've looked to me for guidance and help in making decisions. So, when that strength is shaken, it's more than a major surprise. It can be devastating. The things that happen to us in life, shape how we react to future challenges, I think.
When I write about the depression and devastation that Jen felt after her kidnapping, I can do it from the heart. When I hear people speak about post traumatic stress disorder, I know that in most cases what they're describing is real, both the physical and mental symptoms. And when I hear others tell of the odds they overcame to regain "themselves", I know that is possible.
My strength was stolen when I was almost killed in an auto accident. I didn't know it at the time, but I was a victim of a particular kind of post traumatic stress disorder. I went from being the rock everyone depended upon to a person who couldn't make a decision as small as what color toilet paper to put in the bathroom. Quite a change. But a person who is inwardly strong can mask things like that from others and appear quite normal. For over a year I struggled to be the person I had been before my strength was taken in a split second...a twist of fate. I wasn't able to cope with many things during that time, but very few people picked up on my inner turmoil. I just kept marching through like that stalwart soldier, but the solider was a zombie. Dead inside.
You see, when the car came hurtling at me head-on, my subconscious mind decided that I was dead. There was no way I could survive. I remember hearing people look into the smashed car, saying "She's alive."
When I realized I hadn't been killed or maimed, but was unbelievable lucky enough to escape with injuries that pretty much healed within a year or so, my mind had already shut down. No one saw that the bruised psyche wasn't healing along with the cuts, bruises and torn muscles. I couldn't make myself take responsiblity for anything. It took over a year of therapy with a very talented psychologist, and boxes and boxes of Kleenex, to give me back myself. I bless the fact that I had the courage to seek help when I couldn't help myself. I'd finally had to admit that I was in trouble.
So, while my experience was nowhere as severe as what Jen experiences in A DREAM LOST, in many ways I know what it is to feel some of the emotions and thoughts that she goes through. That's why I say it was written from the heart. Whether weak or strong of character, when tragedy strikes, in my opinion survival can be the difference between reaching way down inside of yourself and finding that elusive strength, or going through life feeling you were a helpless victim.
More tomorrow.
--Arliss
No comments:
Post a Comment